ce
he had been sent to Switzerland, to scale not mountains, but the peaks
of knowledge. It added, with that naive selfishness from which
sometimes even the most pious are not exempt, "had you been killed, in
addition to losing your own life, which would not so much have
mattered, since I trust that you would have passed to a better, you
would have done a wrong to your family. In that event, as you are not
yet of age, I believe the money which your friend left to you recently,
would have returned to her estate instead of going to benefit your
natural heirs."

Godfrey pondered over the words "natural heirs," wondering who these
might be. Coming finally to the conclusion that he had but one, namely
his father, which accounted for the solicitude expressed so earnestly
in the letter, he uttered an expletive, which should not have passed
his youthful lips, and threw it down upon the top of that of Madame
Riennes.

After this he left the room much depressed, and watching his
opportunity, for the merry party in the _salon_ who had gathered to
greet him were still there drinking heavy white wine, he slipped
through the back door to walk in the woods. These woods were lonely,
but then they suited his mood. In truth, never had he felt more alone
in his life. His father and he were utterly different, and estranged,
and he had no other relatives. In friends he was equally lacking. Miss
Ogilvy, whom he had begun to love, was dead, and a friend in heaven is
some way off, although he did think he had heard her voice when he was
so near to joining her.

There remained no one save the Pasteur, of whom he was growing truly
fond, so much so, that he wished that the old gentleman had been
appointed to be his father according to the flesh. The rest of the
world was a blank to him, except for Isobel, who had deserted him.

Besides, some new sentiment had entered into his relations with Isobel,
whereby these were half spoiled. Of course, although he did not
altogether understand it, this was the eternal complication of sex
which curses more than it blesses in the world; of sex, the eating fire
that is so beautiful but burns. For when that fire has passed over the
flowers of friendship, they are changed into some new growth, that
however gorgeous it may be, yet always smells of flame. Sex being the
origin of life is necessarily also the origin of trouble, since life
and trouble are inseparable, and devours the gentle joys of friendship,
a